


baby you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise

by bellamyslady



Series: tumblr prompts [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Country Singer Bellamy, F/M, Journalist Clarke, Pop Star Bellamy, features some side kane and jaha, so pure bellamy and clarke that you can mine it and you'll get rare gem stones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5265722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyslady/pseuds/bellamyslady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, Clarke Griffin, I wonder what you’d look like in the backseat of my truck with your hair spread across the leather and my hands in between your thighs.”</p><p>clarke is an intern at rolling stone and is tasked with interviewing bellamy, the problematic asshole pop star whom nobody wants to work with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise

**Author's Note:**

> "im an intern at the rolling stone and you’re the problematic asshole pop star who i have to interview one on one because nobody else wanted to do it and /fuck/ are you always this difficult (or alternatively the one where the problematic asshole pop star finds the intern to be much more interesting than the interview itself)"
> 
> this fic was written while i listened to the band perry's version of 'gentle on my mind'. hence, why bellamy is a country singer.
> 
> unbeta-ed tumblr prompt. review monster says omnomnomnom

Clarke Griffin was close to throwing her pen, paper and recorder at the man sitting across from her. First, he made her wait for over an hour, forcing her to shift meeting rooms twice. When he finally showed up, he insisted on doing the interview at a location of his choosing: a noisy bar where she had to shout to be heard. But, she could deal with fussiness. Everyone in the industry of celebrities dealt with this kind of behaviour.

Instead, her murderous rage was brought on by his reluctance to answer any of her carefully prepared questions. To make matters worse, his management had set up the interview in a bid to promote his latest album. Now, he was smiling smugly at her, probably knowing exactly how she was planning to kill him with her pen.

“Let’s try this again, Mr. Blake—”

“Bellamy,” he interrupted, running his finger absently over the rim of his glass of bourbon.

“Right, _Bellamy_. You told _People_ magazine that _Fallen to Earth_ was inspired by your sister and your struggles growing up.” Clarke consulted the notes of research she had done while waiting for him to turn up, mostly to avoid looking at him. “Could you tell me more about how the inspiration came about? Why were you inspired to write and talk about your sister when you’ve refused to answer such questions throughout your entire career?”

“Do you have any siblings, Clarke?” Bellamy asked, throwing his legs up onto the table and crossing them at the ankle.

He sounded serious enough so Clarke decided to humour him. Perhaps he would finally answer her questions. “No, I don’t.”

“In my experience, women with siblings are often difficult to woo. Their families protected them too much. But you, you must have it easy.” He winked at her. “How many boyfriends do you have?”

Clarke inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. She counted backwards from ten and forced her hands to relax. _Be professional, Clarke. Be professional. Megastars can be bothersome. You’ve heard the stories. They warned you._ But she couldn’t help fantasizing about the ways she would kill him. It just so happened she decided to wear very sharp heels today and they would look spectacular sticking out of his very hard head. _Think about the by-line. And your resume._

“Is something bothering you, Ms Griffin?”

He was laughing at her. Inhaling sharply, she said, “No, Mr. Blake. Now, let’s get back to our interview. Could you please repeat the comment you made about my legs when you walked in? I’d like to have it on tape. For journalistic purposes.”

Bellamy choked on his sip of alcohol.

**SIX HOURS AGO**

Stepping out of the elevator, Clarke immediately knew something was wrong. Everyone looked at her either in sympathy or from behind their hands, probably hiding a laugh. The looks followed her to her desk. Something was definitely up but it seemed no one wanted to spare her the misery. She swallowed hard.

It got worse when she looked down and instead of seeing her coffee list, she was greeted with a note in her editor’s perfect scrawl telling her to meet him as soon as she got in. Turning to her fellow intern, a stoic girl who went only by Raven, she asked, “Hey, do you know why Jaha wants to see me?”

Stoic Raven shrugged and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. “I don’t know. But I’m doing your coffee runs today. You’ve either done something really good or really bad. See you on the other side, Clarke.”

Her hands shook as she walked to her editor’s office, running through all the things she had done in the past two months. She wondered where she made a mistake. No one ever dealt with Jaha directly. He was some sort of mythical creature made up to scare the interns.

Everyone dealt with only Kane or some other higher up but mostly Kane who was in charge of everything. She really must have fucked up if she was meeting with Jaha personally. _Or maybe he just wants to tell you what a good job you’ve done fetching coffee and photocopying things. You can’t go wrong with that,_ she thought.

Before Clarke could knock, the door was pulled open hard. Jaha was smiling like a Cheshire cat and she decided she liked it even less than his perpetually angry expression. “Come in, come in. Sit down. Would you like a drink?”

She promptly sat down and shook her head. All he had to offer was from his liquor cabinet and Clarke wasn’t one to drink on the job. With a sharp nod, he sat down across from her. “Sir, what is this about?” she asked when he wasn’t forthcoming with why she had been summoned.

“Ms Griffin, are you familiar with Bellamy Blake?”

Clarke tried not to look at him as if he was stupid but she failed. “Sir, everyone alive knows Bellamy Blake. It’s not hard to when he’s music’s biggest star.”

Jaha appeared to not have noticed her expression. In fact, he didn’t seem remotely interested in looking at her. His eyes were glued to his computer screen and phone. “Good, then you’ll be happy to know that you’ll be conducting his interview today.”

 Clarke stared at him, unblinking. “Sir, you’re allowing me to conduct an interview with the biggest star on the planet?”

“Everyone insisted you do it. They said to give the intern a chance.” He didn’t look up once from his phone. With a wave of his hand, he said, “Report to Kane. He will give you the brief. Don’t fuck this up and you’ll get a by-line.”

Coupled with the looks she got earlier, Clarke was very, very suspicious of this turn of events. She refused to believe anyone would say no to such an opportunity. Interns never got to interview anyone, especially not someone who was nominated for two Grammys and had won Debut Artist of the Year. “No one wanted to interview Bellamy Blake?”

Jaha looked pointedly at Clarke and then heaved a terrible and long sigh. She knew that was her cue to leave and she backed out of his office. Shutting the door behind her with a click, she grinned. She wasn’t getting fired and she was getting to write an article about Bellamy Blake. Life couldn’t get better.

* * *

 

It got worse.

It was no secret Clarke was a huge fan. She had owned all his albums, devoured every one of his music videos and had two posters of him on her wall. She even attended one of his concerts and knew all of his lyrics. In fact, she had one tattooed on her left shoulder but there was no way she was going to admit it. When he had walked into the meeting room, she forced herself to not act like a silly fangirl.

Now, sitting in front of her musical idol, she decided to take down every poster and sell her albums when she got home.

As Bellamy spluttered and choked on the burn of alcohol in his throat, she sweetly offered him a napkin. “If you’re done choking, let’s get back to this interview. I’m afraid we’ve taken up too much of your time already. How were you inspired by your sister and your childhood to write _Fallen to Earth_? Why open up now?”

"I said that your legs would look good wrapped around my waist.”

Now it was Clarke’s turn to cough violently and was greeted with Bellamy’s smirk. She didn’t believe in a higher power but she reached out silently to whoever was watching and prayed to have the strength to get through the next few minutes.

Ignoring him, she tried a different question once she got herself under control. “Your songs have always revolved around cars, women and drink. What drove you to write more persona material?”

“You look just like one of the women I sing about, y’know. All blonde hair, long legs, sweet behind and blue eyes…are they blue?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he tilted his chair back on its hind legs and asked, “Have you ever dated a rock star, Clarke? I would like to take you out to dinner.”

“You’re being inappropriate, Mr. Blake. Let’s just stick to the interview, shall we?” She offered him a strained smile. She could—no, would—get through this. She tried another question. “What drew you to work with producers like John Murphy and Jasper Jordan?”

The smile that split Bellamy’s face was dazzling and he laughed freely at some joke only he understood. Setting the chair back down gently, he took his feet off the table and leaned in closer. “There is just something about Murphy’s sound that is…incredible. He has so much raw talent and he knows exactly what to do with it. I can’t put it in words. It’s like, it’s instinctive. But he’s got this kind of quiet power to him and it really shows through the music. Jasper, on the other hand, is more experimental. His work is loud and unashamed and I think that’s what _Fallen to Earth_ really needed. Jasper and Murphy provided wonderful contrasts that really tie the whole album together.”

Clarke was surprised and also relieved he finally decided to cooperate but she didn’t let it show on her face. Instead, she maintained a professional calm and made a few notes on her pad. With a genuine smile, she asked her next question, “Let’s talk about your inspiration for the album.”

Immediately, Bellamy settled back into the chair, put his legs up on the table and folded his arms behind his head. He gave her an insolent stare and yelled for another glass of bourbon. “You know, Clarke Griffin, I wonder what you’d look like in the backseat of my truck with your hair spread across the leather and my hands in between your thighs.”

Even though she shot him a glare, she couldn’t help but think about what it would be like. Girls like her didn’t date rock stars and rock stars didn’t date journalists. But one little taste wouldn’t hurt. No one wanted to interview Bellamy but she had heard along the office grapevine that Echo in PR had slept with him once. According to her, he was fantastic in bed.

Clarke’s eyes couldn’t help but drift to Bellamy’s fingers as they wrapped around the tumbler of bourbon. In her first year of college, she had drunkenly admitted she wouldn’t mind if Bellamy Blake asked her to sleep with him. She regretted making such a statement even though it was true at the time because he was sexy as sin but arrogant as a peacock.

Swallowing hard, she watched as lifted the glass to his lips. She could hear Stoic Raven’s voice in her head, “Guitarists are magical with their fingers. Let them near your lady bits and you’ll be seeing stars for days.” _Stop it, Clarke. This is unprofessional._

“I can see you thinking about it,” Bellamy teased.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” Clarke replied with a haughty toss of her hair over her shoulder. A little louder than she normally would, even with the din in the bar, she asked, “Why the change in musical direction? I understand you still identify as country but you’ve given it an edge.”

He offered another of his dazzling smiles. “I’m not a kid writing songs out of my college dorm room any more. I’ve seen things, learned things. People grow up. Life is more than just six packs and girls. Although those things are pretty great, y’know,” he said, leaning forward with his arms folded on the table. He paused for a moment to take a drink and then said, “Once, we went driving down the open road and it was empty space for miles and miles with the wind in your hair and your face, your leg aching from holding down the accelerator. But there’s something very free about the open road. We drove down Route 66 once just to see what it was like back in the old days. Of course, it’s become a tourist attraction but it was still beautiful. The open road was what inspired me to write _Fallen to Earth_.”

“Who is we?” she asked. “Does this mean you were with your sister? Since you have said she was your inspiration for the album.”

Bellamy leaned back once again and folded his arms behind his head. “Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions? Must have driven your boyfriends crazy. Speaking of which, how many boyfriends have you had?”

“I’m a journalist. It’s my job to ask questions.” She purposely ignored the other half of his words and he grinned at that.

“Yeah, tell me about your boyfriends. Were they any good?”

Exasperated, Clarke asked, “Would you prefer to discuss your personal life? Which starlet you are going to date next? Who else would like to say you took them to bed? You seem very averse to discussing your album which I believe was the purpose of this interview.”

Bellamy was undeterred. “I would love you real good, Clarke Griffin. I want to take you in my backseat, in the bed of my truck, against it. Any way I can have you. Please say yes.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I don’t have to.”

“I’m a professional.”

“So am I.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Are you always this difficult?” Clarke sighed, running a hand through her hair. She would definitely need a drink once this interview was over. Perhaps she’d even make him buy her one for putting her through this hell. She glanced at her watch to find she only had twenty minutes left.

“Some might even call me incorrigible. Others call me wicked. But only at night, when they’re crying my name in ecstasy.” Bellamy chuckled lowly, the sound arrowing straight to the juncture of her highs. “I’d like to hear you cry my name.”

“This is unprofessional, Mr. Blake,” she said, sitting up straighter. “We only have twenty minutes left for the interview. Either you give me something we can work with or you’re going to have a very, very interesting write up in the next issue of Rolling Stones.”

“Do your worst, Ms Griffin.” The challenge in his eyes was real. Clarke didn’t back down either, her eyes fixed on his.

Neither of them spoke but the bar atmosphere offered no space for awkward silences. Bellamy just sipped at his bourbon as if he were a jaded cowboy. She could almost imagine him pulling his Stetson low across his brow. She broke the silence first by turning off her recorder and placing it in the middle of the table. “Off the record, why won’t you answer my questions? You’ve answered only two in the past hour. And you’ve had three drinks.”

“Nothing is ever off the record with you journalists.” Bellamy tapped the side of his head.

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh softly. “That’s fair. But I can’t write an article if you don’t answer my questions.”

“I’ll answer your questions if you promise me one thing.”

“What is this thing?”

“You’ll come in my backseat.”

“You’re disgusting.” Clarke rolled her eyes and looked at her watch. With much conviction, she slapped her notepad shut, picked up her recorder and pocketed it. She sighed with relief and smiled at him, “Well, Mr Blake. We are officially done here. Thank you very much for your time.”

“Ah, finally,” Bellamy said, smiling wickedly. He yelled across the bar, “Shots, Monty! More shots!”

Bellamy’s penchant for drinking was certainly something she would include although considering he was a country singer, it wasn’t an interesting fact. Clarke rose and picked up her purse. With a cool incline of her head, she said, “Good day, Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke was almost at the door when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Instinct caused her to immediately throw a punch but she didn’t feel her fist connect with flesh. Instead, she heard a loud cuss and a sudden hush in the bar before coming face to face with Bellamy who wore a wry grin. “You’re quick,” he said, holding out his hands in surrender.

Everyone was staring at them and the hushed whispers began. “I don’t like to be touched.” She shrugged slightly before turning around.

“Please stay.” He almost sounded like he was begging.

“I’ve only been allowed one hour with you.” She turned and gestured to the bodyguards who sat next to the table they had just vacated. “They’re already here to pick you up. Besides, I need to get back and write this article with whatever _little_ information you gave me.”

“Were you one of those girls who dreamt of kissing a rock star?” Gone was the cockiness and arrogance. In its place, she heard a sort of vulnerability and a little more edge; it was almost raw.

“Every girl dreams of kissing a rock star, Bellamy. You’re not that special.”

“Who said anything about me?”

Clarke took a step closer to him. Thes whispers turned into murmurs. “Why are you asking?” she countered.

“Because I want to kiss you.”

“You don’t know me,” she said, an echo of her earlier words.

“I want to.”

“We _don’t know_ each other,” Clarke stressed.

“The fun is in the getting to know part.”

It coaxed a smile out of her. “We’re in public.”

“I don’t care.”

“Your management will.”

“Fuck them. They don’t decide whom I date.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “Are you saying you want to date me?”

“Maybe.”

“What about your backseat?”

“That, too.”

“I’ll get fired. This is unprofessional.” She dropped into a whisper, not wanting the tables around them to overhear. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. This was the stuff of fantasies, whispered under sheets at sleepovers. A celebrity didn’t walk up to you and say he wanted to date you.

“You won’t get fired.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ll give you exclusive access to everything. I won’t work with any other journalist.”

“I’m only an intern.”

“Even better. They’ll give you a permanent job.”

Clarke knew what Stoic Raven would say. “Just do it, Clarke. You don’t have anything to lose. Okay, you’ll lose quite a bit but you’ll always ask yourself _what if_. And that’s worse than losing everything.” It was a little funny how someone she only knew for two months was suddenly her conscience.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Bellamy asked, his normally smirking face splitting into a smile so genuine it hurt Clarke, but in a good way. It looked like a smile he reserved only for special people.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?”

“You’re going to be a lot of fun, Clarke Griffin.”

“Don’t break my heart, Bellamy.”

“I won’t.”

He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek and down her neck before curving around her nape and tugging her to him in a possessive gesture. Startled, Clarke’s hands flew to his chest. He tugged her lower body snugly against his when he curved his other hand over her hip and pulled her flush against him. Then, he sealed his promise with the lightest brush of his lips against hers, as if he was afraid to break her. “You call that a kiss?” Clarke asked with a shake of her head. “You have a lot of learning to do.”

She curled her fingers into his shirt and pulled him down, their teeth clacking together as they met in an open-mouthed kiss. Clarke swept her tongue into his mouth and he nipped her bottom lip in retaliation. When she raised her arms to wrap around his neck, he curved his hand curved over her ass, palming the soft flesh. With a gasp, she broke the kiss but her body was moulded to his, her stiff nipples rubbing against his chest.

Cameras went wild around them but Bellamy slid his hand possessively into her hair, gently tugging her forward until their foreheads touched. “Forget them,” he breathed.

“I intend to.”

A laugh rumbled in Bellamy’s chest. “Good.”

“I have to go,” Clarke whispered. Slowly, she slid her hand down Bellamy’s chest and then over the hard curve of his hips, finding the marker that rumour said he always carried.

Breaking apart, she took his hand, uncapped the marker with her teeth and wrote her number on his palm. “Call me,” she said, recapping the marker and sliding it into her back pocket.

“I want my marker back.”

“Come and get it,” she laughed and walked out of the bar, leaving Bellamy with a goofy grin on his face and cameras flashing all around him. His bodyguards surrounded him a moment later and herded him to the back of the bar as he stared dazedly at his palm.

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

The photograph of them kissing made front page news for only three days, much shorter than Clarke expected. Of course, Stoic Raven had teased her mercilessly about it but she didn’t become famous overnight. Apparently, no one cared about a journalist but, Bellamy had been right. Kane hadn’t fired her only because he learned the hard way that Bellamy would only give interviews to Clarke.

“Mr. Blake, why don’t you tell us about your inspiration behind _Fallen to Earth_?” Kane asked, the day after the fateful kiss. Bellamy’s management had called Rolling Stone to complain about Clarke’s behaviour and Kane ordered her to clear out the next day.

“Clarke Griffin.”

Kane frowned slightly. He was familiar with celebrity antics and how to handle them. However, none of his tactics had worked so far. He tried a more direct question. “Mr. Blake, which song did you enjoy producing the most?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

"Mr. Blake, your management has made it clear that this interview is vital to promoting your new album. Your cooperation will be much appreciated.”

“Clarke Griffin,” Bellamy said, smirking.

Kane inhaled sharply and then pulled out his cellphone, calling his assistant. She picked up on the second ring. “Get me Clarke Griffin. Tell her she’s not to leave.”

* * *

 

Now, Clarke sat staring at her laptop, trying to organise the jumble of information Bellamy _finally_ gave her. He hadn’t called her since the rescheduled interview two days after Kane caved to his demands. She hadn’t expected him too. He was a celebrity after all and he had far too many ladies to choose from.

 _Wild speculation has been made about Blake’s past. The violence, aggression and pain hinted only through his music. But behind the darkness, there is also a bright light of hope in the form of his sister, Octavia Blake._ Fallen to Earth _documents how he raised her after his mother passed away and the things he had to do to survive. Interspersed with the songs of growing up too fast are songs of young love and first sweethearts, turning_ Fallen to Earth _into a memoir of sorts. It also demonstrates a maturity in his music, moving from girls and beer to something more personal. “People grow up. Life is more than just six packs and girls,” he said._

_When prompted on why he chose two of the youngest producers in the country, Jasper Jordan and John Murphy, he_

Her phone buzzed quietly but she didn’t recognise the number. “Hello?” she answered, absently flipping through her notes.

 “Do you want to see my backseat now?”

Clarke grinned and something in her heart soothed. “You didn’t call me for two weeks. You’re going to have to ask real nicely.”

“I’m asking.”

“I’m saying yes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed this. please tell me if you did or if you didn't. i really had fun writing this. it's a long overdue prompt i never really got to because of school. i did diverge quite a bit from the prompt and it got longer than i wanted it to. but i love it. i've never really loved a fic this much.


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